


The Mission Just Got A Lot More Complicated

by Antipode



Series: Before The Devil Knows You're Dead [3]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Biotic Shepard (Mass Effect), Custom Shepard (Mass Effect), Espionage, F/F, Indoctrination Theory (Mass Effect), Intrigue, Late Night Conversations, Martial Arts, No Shepard Without Vakarian, Post-Mass Effect 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:26:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29798106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antipode/pseuds/Antipode
Summary: Continuing from where "Arrow of the Goddess" left off. Sybilla meets the squad and learns news of an old 'friend.' Garrus gets details from Liara and talks it over with Tali. Miranda, Jack and Liara go over intel on the Citadel.Post-ME3 Destroy/Happy Ending, set in 2216 where Sybilla Shepard has retired from the System Alliance Navy, but the System Alliance Navy doesn't want to give up on Shepard.
Relationships: Female Shepard/Liara T'Soni, Garrus Vakarian/Tali'Zorah nar Rayya, Jack | Subject Zero/Miranda Lawson
Series: Before The Devil Knows You're Dead [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2070054
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

"Officer in the CIC!"

Shepard stormed into the command center in a swirl of black and gold, willing the slight limp in her left leg into obeying her as she dredged up a suitable brass-buttoned officer's scowl and posture and inspected her new command with a baleful eye. A dozen marines, officers and various support staff snapped salutes as she entered, their chairs and data-pads and coffee cups clattering loudly at the surprise inspection, exchanging worried glances. She was early, but moreso: they'd heard Commander Shepard, now just Operative Shepard, was assuming the missing Major Kamille's command, but few of them had actually believed it.  _ The _ Commander Shepard? Back out of retirement?

_ It's not a return to service _ , she had reminded herself as she readied herself at zero-dark-thirty this morning, before catching a shuttle to Alliance Naval Command half a planet away.  _ It's a favor _ . She'd eschewed Alliance garb for this reason, opting for a black, gold-chased turian-style tunic and trousers embroidered with the forbidding shield of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance on the breast. Her signature messy bun was back; silvered curls not any more obedient than her jet-black ones had been. Black flats clicked ominously against the tiled floor. Her gold-chased belt sat empty; the entire shuttle ride she'd sat and stared at the Carnifex in her lap, at the sweat-stained and war-worn grooves in the handle, at the bright bit of silver where her trigger finger had rested. They'd pulled the sidearm out of the wreckage of the Citadel, had rebuilt it when they'd rebuilt her. "The gun that saved the galaxy," they'd called it; had made a replica for every Reaper War museum in C-Space. Kaidan and James had made to present it to her as a gift when she'd gotten out of the hospital. They still didn't understand why she'd burst into tears, why she'd hidden the hateful thing out of sight for decades. She couldn't bear to be too far from it, but even after thirty years she couldn't trust herself to wear it.

The chamber was typical of Alliance design; a circular vault with a dome-ceiling; haptic interfaces ringing the walls and a large conference table in the center. Most of the personnel she immediately identified as marines had been idling by the table. She recognized her three would-be captors among them, as well as three others; a slim, elfin woman with dark braids and the telltale scars from a biotic implant; a thick-necked, broad-shouldered figure with elaborate facial tattoos; and a dark-haired woman nearly as tall as Shepard. Two pairs of men and women in officer's attire rounded out the command group; a short, swarthy man with a clever beard; a thinner, taller figure with thick with glasses and ginger scruff; a squat, burly woman with a nose ring, and a plump, pretty figure with violet eyes. None of them looked older than thirty; post-War babies, unscarred and untested, raised in a galaxy marred by conflict but never thrown into it. Shepard sighed inwardly.

She let them stand at attention for a few seconds longer than necessary before gesturing.

"So, first thing. I'm not Alliance personnel anymore, I'm here strictly as a representative of the Council. So you don't need to salute or call me "Commander". "Operative Shepard" or "ma'am" will do just fine."

The soldiers dropped into a more restful stance, some letting out slightly annoyed grunts, others staying silent, exchanging further glances.

"Second," Shepard started pacing, "I may not  _ be _ Alliance anymore, but I spent the last four decades in the navy. So I imagine you'll find my routines and expectations familiar. We all treat this like any other op, we do our jobs, we go home to do the spouse or sweetheart thing. Now, last bit of business before the briefing.” She glanced towards the trio of marines from northern Lebanon; the thick-necked redhead, the dour woman with the shaved head, and the lanky blond. “I’m willing to let bygones be bygones, keep things professional. But if any of you three are feeling raw about Bsharri, we can schedule a second dance any time you like.”

The men blanched, with the lankier of the two involuntarily rubbing at the fresh bruises on his throat. Neither could meet her eyes. The woman, though…

“Maybe I do still feel some type of way,” the woman admitted, stepping forward. She looked half a foot shorter than Shepard and nearly fifty pounds lighter of lean, lithe muscle. The way she bounced easily on her feet as she took a few respectful steps better told the bigger woman that this marine knew how to handle herself. Heavy-lidded eyes gave the impression of inattentiveness. Shepard liked her nearly on sight.

“Your name, private?” She gestured to the marine, beckoning.

“PFC Clemente, ma’am,” the woman answered easily, doffing her shirt in the cool, climate-controlled chamber. “Nikita Clemente.” Shepard caught sight of an N-School tattoo on her ribcage, a pair of boxing gloves on her upper bicep. Southpaw, with a high guard. She stepped easily, quickly, like a dragonfly on a lilypad.

Shepard thought about ditching her own shirt, for better mobility. Instead, she slid into a left-handed guard of her own. Her hip and knee howled in protest; never quite healed from the War. She ignored it. She felt out of practice, rusty; her body not responding the way she wanted it to, the way she was used to. She ignored that, too. She was going to make an example out of PFC Clemente.

The shorter woman rushed in low and on the right, leading with a leg kick and following up with a quick combination of punches. She was strong, and quick, and her technique was good. She expected Shepard to defend; to let the younger woman tire; to conserve energy and movement and get a sense of her opponent’s weaknesses.

A grin split her lips. Shepard  _ never _ defended.

Stepping inside Clemente’s range to neutralize the kick, she absorbed the woman’s blows with forearm and shoulder before throwing a quick jab. It felt slow, and sluggish, and she wasn’t sure if she was more annoyed with the click in her hip than with the ease Clemente batted it aside and struck her a glancing blow across the brow with her own jab. The flash of pain was like a bucket of ice; rage flooded her body, and with it came clarity, focus. The shorter woman spun, turning the momentum into a heavy roundhouse kick leveled straight at Shepard’s head. She caught it effortlessly and slammed Clemente into the floor, reversing her forward momentum with inhuman strength. In an instant, Shepard was atop her, knee pressed to her throat. She made sure Clemente was looking up at her as she gave her a coy smile and a wink and applied just enough pressure to let her know she was there. Clemente struggled vainly against the larger woman for a few moments, but between Shepard’s weight and position, it was like trying to lift a boulder. The fight leaked out of her eyes and Shepard felt her slacken beneath her before grudgingly tapping out.

Shepard said nothing; nothing needed to be said. She simply got up and offered a hand to the downed woman. Clemente stared up at her for a long moment, equally quiet, before blowing air out her mouth and accepting the hand up.

A slow clap rang out as Clemente put her shirt back on. Hackett strode into the briefing room, a smile on his lips that didn’t reach his eyes. “Haven’t lost a step on me, have you Shepard? I can’t remember the last time I saw someone lay a hand on you, one on one.”

The Alliance soldiers, as one, snapped to attention. Shepard didn’t. She folded her arms. “Been retired for the last three years,” she said in a tone like a swift-flowing river; light and easy on the surface, with a dangerous undercurrent. “The only kind of dancing I’ve been doing, there’s supposed to be hands on me.”

“You’ll be back to your old ways in no time,” he promised. “Now, if you don’t mind?” He gestured to the briefing-table. Wordlessly, the other marines took seats, or found places to stand. Shepard remained where she was, glancing expectantly. After a moment, Hackett rolled his eyes and tapped a few keys on his ‘omni, activating the holo-display on the briefing-table. Four figures swirled into view; a grainy still, digitally sharpened to discern at least a few distinguishing features. Two men and two women; a dark woman, her clever eyes hidden behind glossy black bangs, a tall woman with shaven sides and a septum piercing, a thick-necked bull of a man with coppery hair turning grey, and a dour figure with a swarthy complexion and glittering augmeticized eyes.

“The targets: four advanced-stage Indocs. We first discovered them a week ago; they massacred a shuttle full of civilians, then went to ground. Intel suggests they’re keeping the source of their exposure with them, and that they haven’t scattered. They appear to be working together, though intelligence hasn’t quite figured out what a broader goal might be.”

Hackett tapped another input on his ‘omni. The display changed to a soldier’s POV; the helmet-cam of an Alliance marine. Through the jarring, static-filled clips, they watched as the soldier’s squad was gunned down, one by one. The camera-wielding soldier was the last to die; the clip ended with the dark woman with the bangs peering curiously into the camera lens before de-activating it.

“Major Kamille’s team. They got a look at the Keter-class materiel they’re lugging. It looks like some kind of orb. They also managed to report a lot of stolen machinery; the Indocs hit a warehouse for some kind of pharmaceutical firm, uh, GeneSys Industries. Again, intelligence is still trying to figure out what the long-term goal is, here. We haven’t seen coordination and purpose from Indocs like this in decades.”

“Can’t be,” Shepard murmured under her breath. A flash of memory:  _ her voice, gone from stuttering to sultry, mocking, dangerous, like the muzzle of a gun poking out from a silk sheet. Her eyes dance mischievously. “Afraid I’ll escape, come back for revenge? Is the great Commander Shepard pleading for her life?” _

_ “No,” Shepard hissed through gritted teeth. “I’m pleading for yours.” _

“What was that, Shepard?”

She blinked. A roomfull of eyes on her, expectantly.

“Have you ID’d any of the Indocs?”

Hackett frowned, pulling up his briefing data-pad. “Intelligence flagged them all as ex-GeneSys employees working on a non-classified but unspecified military contract. I’ve been mired in red tape trying to find out what the project was. There was a theory the raid on the GeneSys lab was some kind of instinctual behavior-”

“That isn’t an ex-GeneSys employee,” Shepard snapped. “That’s Maya Brooks.”

“Who?” He lowered the data-pad. “I don’t have anyone named-”

“It’s not her real name. She’s gone by at least three other aliases that I know of; ‘Captain Channing,’ ‘Hope Lillium,’ and ‘Rasa.’ She’s Cerberus black ops. She’s the one that tried to steal the Normandy, thirty years ago.” Shepard could feel a fury mounting within her. “What’s a Cerberus operative doing working for  _ anyone _ , let alone a military project for a private contractor?”

Hackett glanced at the other soldiers. "That's all need-to-know information. I can't talk to the specifics of this particular individual, if it is indeed- what are you doing?"

"Making a call," Shepard snapped, bringing her 'omni up. "You finish the briefing, I'll read it after.” She stepped out of the room, out of earshot of Hackett and the others.

“Lawson? I need a favor. An old friend of ours has resurfaced; I need everything on her since the "good old days;" where she's been, who's she been with. Forwarding you the relevants." 

There was a moment of silence. "I am doing well, Shepard," Miranda lilted sarcastically. "Jack and I took a holiday out to Intai'sei. Glad to hear from you."

Shepard rolled her eyes. "I'll butter you up next time, Space Diva," she groaned. "This is time sensitive. As in yesterday."

"I didn't know retirees had time-sensitive matters," Miranda grumbled. "Receiving now…" Her voice changed; whimsical to business in an instant. "Is that-"

"It is," Shepard confirmed.

"Right. Running a scan... Brooks, Maya; known alias, ex-Cerberus, Silversun Strip incident… says she's been listed as dead since 2188. Obviously that's been doctored. Right, from the top, after Brooks; Amel Raye, Denton Flagg, Salim Malek. All three are ex-Cerberus personnel taken prisoner during the battle of Cronos Station. They were held in separate maximum security Alliance prison facilities. All three listed as deceased the same date: April 17th 2188. Forwarding you everything I could find. It isn't much, but it's a start. Shepard-"

"I'll have to give you a private ring, later," Shepard interjected meaningfully. "Thanks for the assist, Lawson. I owe you, as usual. Give my love to Jack and Ori."

"Be careful, Shepard," Miranda said, equally meaningfully.

“I love you too, sweetie,” she replied, ending the call. The moment of levity passed, leaving her feeling as if there was an anchor strapped to her back.  _ Brooks _ , she mused.  _ Cerberus. Cronos. April 17th. _

“This just got a lot more complicated,” Shepard whispered to herself in the empty hallway.

Her mind wracked with troubles and conflicting theories, Shepard slipped back into the briefing. Hackett had a pair of brainscans on the display; obviously going over the differences between a ‘regular’ brain and one that had been Indoctrinated. Half of the marines were looking with rapt attention, the other seemed bored.

“-not as if they  _ actually _ have increased pain or injury resistance, or additional strength: it is a byproduct of the removal of doubt, of self-preservation. An Indoctrinated person cares only for whatever directive is being fed to them by the Reaper signal. In the old days, this would be a Reaper platform. Since the War, we’ve learned that even fragments of these now-destroyed platforms can broadcast a Reaper signal across short distances, after prolonged exposure. Your kinetic barrier clamshells broadcast a pulsed jamming frequency that interrupts the Reaper signal; but your barriers  _ have _ to be active. No barrier, no Reaper signal shielding.” 

Hackett glanced at Shepard as she entered. “That will conclude the briefing. I leave you in Operative Shepard’s capable hands. Shepard; a word, before I depart?”

“Yes, sir.” She nodded, then addressed her new command. “In the meantime; I want duty rosters, I want weapons checks, I want everyone’s briefing notes so I can pass off any and all good ideas as my own, and I want everyone - and I do mean  _ everyone _ \- in PT gear, ready to take that obstacle on level four, by 0700.” Groans echoed through the briefing room as they scattered to set about their task. Shepard hid a smile.

Hackett was waiting for her just outside the room, arms folded, a glower on his scarred, silvered face. “Do I need to ask who that call was to?”

“Your four Indocs are all ex-Cerberus,” Shepard said in a low voice. She could feel the weal of a headache coming on, the slight digging of metal claws in her brain from her old, outdated biotic amp. “I have back-channel intel on all of them. Brooks we caught on the Citadel; Raye, Flagg and Malek were round-ups from the raid on Cronos Station. All Cerberus bio-engineering division, black ops - hell, Brooks was on acquisitions for Lazarus. That’s  _ me _ , Hackett. All interred at separate maximum-security Alliance holdings, all listed as deceased on the same day, April 17th 2188.” She leaned in closer. “Admiral, what the  _ hell _ happened on April 17th, 2188?”

Hackett’s flinty eyes regarded her in his own quiet fury for a long moment. Finally; “I had my suspicions. This confirms it. This is why I needed to bring you in on this, Shepard - you have access to information outside the chain of command, classified information that neither of us would ever get a chance to-”

“You had  _ suspicions _ ?” Shepard’s eyes bulged. “Suspicions of what?”

“Suspicions that, after the War, Navy brass and high-level Alliance politicians cut deals with Cerberus staff to quietly integrate them back into classified military projects. Some kind of ex-Cerberus skunkworks, working with dangerous Reaper materiel in violation of the Treaty of Dis.”

“Unbelievable,” Shepard took a step back, swearing vehemently. “Unbelievable.”

“Are you really that surprised? You know how the game is played.” Hackett’s frown deepened. “You don’t think anyone within top brass wanted a peek at what Cerberus was doing with their gene-altering enhancements for infantry? At their stealth and cloaking technology? What they did with the Normandy SR-2 blew anything we’d developed alongside the turians out of the water. We learned what we could, safely, from post-war Reaper tech - but Cerberus had years on us, and the advantage of no political oversight or even safety standards. I’m sure someone whispered into the Admiralty Board’s ear that  _ we _ could be the next one to come up with the equivalent of Thanix technology, not the turians this time.”

“And you were okay with this?” Shepard hissed. “You saw what Cerberus was doing with their shock troops. They were more husk than human!”

“I told you; I had suspicions, nothing solid. I’m not exactly in high favor with the Admiralty Board or Parliment. They know how I’d feel on the matter.”

“And that is?” Shepard folded her arms.

“That soldiers are  _ made _ , not  _ grown _ ,” Hackett snapped indignantly. “Everyone thinks gene-modding and cloning is going to produce the next super-soldier. They all want entire battalions of Sybilla Shepards. I always tell them, if there were a hundred of her, it wouldn’t  _ be _ her; she’s exceptional precisely because she’s unique. You can’t take what you’ve done and put it in a syringe to give to others.”

And just like that, Shepard was sixteen again, swearing her Oath of Allegiance. She was a lanky lance corporal in loose-fitting clothing, being fitted for a Star of Terra after a harrowing twenty-seven hours. She was stepping off a shuttle to blinding heat and sun, The Villa looming over. And that rail-thin, hatchet-faced Admiral with the flinty eyes was there every time; the father figure she’d never had, the voice at her shoulder, urging her forward just a  _ little _ further. Something close to pride welled up in a deep place inside her, and Shepard found herself standing just a little straighter. “I’ll get to the bottom of this. Sir.”

“You always do,” Hackett said, something close to a smile touching the corners of his scarred lips. “I have to go run interference with Alliance brass; they aren’t happy that there’s no ‘local’ oversight, with you being a representative of the Council and all. Councilor Cole and the Prime Minister are furious.”

“Councilor Cole and the Prime Minister are assholes,” Shepard snorted.

“Hey, I didn’t vote for either.” Hackett shrugged. “Democracy. And Shepard - eyes will be on this one,” he said quietly, pointing upward. “This is still being treated as a ‘small matter’ of a security breach. They’re expecting quick results, and then they’re going to bury this. Now, as a Spectre, you aren’t answerable to anyone save God and maybe Tevos, but maybe you keep your status reports light, yeah?”

She nodded, mind racing. If the Alliance had secretly cut deals with ex-Cerberus…

“And Shepard?”

She blinked, snapping back to the present. Hackett’s small smile had grown, imperceptibly.

“It’s good to have you back, girl.”

“I’m not back, Admiral,” she said automatically, but her eyes were already unfocusing, mind already racing with logistics, implications, training regiments, Lawson’s intel. She barely noticed Hackett striding off into the bowels of the complex.

_ Yes you are, _ Hackett thought to himself, quietly whistling.


	2. Chapter 2

tsoni

u up

The fiery Rannoch sunnwas slowly setting behind the steep canyon wall surrounding the Vakarian-Zorah domicile, framing needle-like plateaus and rock formations in stark shadows and glowing oranges. Garrus sat against the exterior wall of the house, tapping at his 'omni, his rifle across his knee, mindlessly and anxiously calibrating the scope for what must have been the dozenth time in the hours following the asari shuttle departing. His message to Liara sat unread, though he knew the asari was far more tech savvy than she let on and was more than capable of masking her extranet presence. He had no idea what time it was on Earth, or even if Liara was on Earth. He had no idea what she knew - probably everything, if he knew T'Soni - but he knew that he knew far, far too little about the situation unfolding. Tali would be worried sick if she knew what Garrus had already been pieced together, and would be furious if she knew what her husband was planning. But the words of his "other wife," as both Tali and Liara affectionately referred to Shepard, ran over and over again in his mind.

_ There's no Shepard without Vakarian. _

A trio of ellipses flashed briefly under the still-unread message, and Garrus' raptor eyes shot from the sunset to the 'omni screen. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a notification popped up.

Hello, Garrus. How are you? How are Tali and the children?

_ Its a text message, not a letter, T'Soni, _ Garrus thought, mandibles clicking in amusement. He put the screwdriver down and tapped a reply.

were ok. bit of a scare 2day. surprise visit from tevos

He paused for a moment, then continued.

shepards back???

There was a long pause on Liara's end. The ellipses appeared, then disappeared, then appeared, then disappeared again. For a few minutes stretching into eternity, there was nothing.

_ She's either writing a novel, or… _

Call you?

_ Spirits. That's not a good sign. _ He didn't have long to wait; his 'omni buzzed almost immediately.  _ Unknown caller, untraceable signal, probably double or triple encrypted. That's an even worse sign. _ "T'Soni?"

"Hello, Garrus. I set up a safe channel. Yes, Sybilla is once again acting under Spectre authority. Are you and Tali alright? Are Victus and Raan?"

"We're okay," he sighed, "Little shaken up." He heard her exhale of relief across the line. "Didn't expect a house full of commandos to come home to."

"The Councillor is subtle right up until she is not," Liara said quietly.  _ An understatement. _

"What the hell is going on, T'Soni? Tevos sounded worried. I don't think that woman's sweat once in a thousand years and she didn't seem encouraged by Shepard being back active. Are  _ you _ okay? You must be-"

"There were… implications made," Liara said carefully. "It was made apparent to us that if Sybilla didn't assist in this matter, those close to us would suffer for it."

"So, blackmail," the turian snarled. "Who in- was this Alliance Parliament? That cloaca, the Prime Minister?"

"Admiral Hackett," Liara said flatly. Even through the communicator Garrus could hear the venom in her voice.

"Damn him," Garrus swore. "And damn Shepard for her martyr complex. You'd think the galaxy would fall apart if she didn't personally handle every problem, between the Council and the Alliance."

"Maybe it should," Liara said softly.

He winced at her tone. "You don't mean that."

"Maybe I do." Her voice was weary. "We picked up all the little pieces from the War and we just shoved them together into one big pile, and we never  _ fixed _ anything."

"We've rebuilt," Garrus argued, "and we've tried to move forward. The Hierarchy released the volus from protectorate status, the quarians and geth have a voice at the council… Steps are being made. I'd thought an asari would appreciate the long game."

"I have time to see a galaxy free of fear and war," was the mournful response, "but Sybilla does not. And she, more than anyone else, deserves to live out the remaining days allotted to us in peace and happiness, with our daughters. Not scurrying to whatever new crisis crops up. If the Council and the Alliance cannot survive without Shepard, what use is it?"

Garrus was quiet for a moment. "How can I help?" he asked finally.

"No," Liara answered instantly, and Garrus could hear the love in her voice, and the hearbreak. "Stay home. Stay home with Victus and Raan. Goddess, you and Tali deserve your happiness as much as Sybilla does."

"You know I can't do that," he argued. "Not while Shepard is in trouble. She's always had my back, no matter what. I can't just let her do this alone."

"Like I did, on Nos Astra, all those years ago, you mean?" Liara's voice was small, and very sad.

"Spirits, Liara - I didn't mean it like that, you know I never blamed you for -  _ spirits, _ no. That was different-"

"Was it?" Her voice cracked slightly. "It is comforting knowing you do not blame me, and I know that Sybilla does not, but perhaps  _ I _ still do, Garrus. Perhaps I still know that I should have been there for her, for  _ you _ , and I was not." Her breath on the communicator sounded unsteady. "I won't lose her again. I  _ won't _ ."

"You won't," he promised. "Look, I'm coming whether you like it or not. I can be to Earth in a couple of days-"

"I am not on Earth," Liara sniffled. "I am on the Citadel. Garrus, please do not do anything rash-"

"I'll see you in a few days," Garrus said again, more firmly. " _ You _ don't do anything rash. I’m overdue for a visit, anyways."

In the sunset sky, four lights twinkled. There was a brief flash, the telltale sign of a shuttle breaching atmosphere, and Garrus let out an involuntary gulp. He would have some explaining to do, to be sure.

“I gotta go,” he muttered. “Gotta talk to-”

“The wife you’re actually married to?” A slight giggle. It drew a slow smile from the turian.

“We could always trade,” he drawled. “Since you two always seem to be in cahoots-”

“ _ Goddess _ . Goodnight, Garrus,” came the firm reply. He could actually see her rolling her eyes, and the faint blush creeping up the back of her crest, and his own grin widened.

“Hey - Liara,” he said before she could hang up, his voice growing serious. “You didn’t answer my question, earlier.  _ Are _ you okay? This all can’t be easy on you.”

A long pause. “No. I am not okay,” Liara whispered. “But thank you for checking in. I cannot tell you what it means to me.” The line clicked.

  
  
  


Garrus was still sitting against the wall of the compound, framed by the setting Rannoch sun, when Tali’s shuttle touched down. She was not graceful, but he found her movements rapturously beautiful, his raptor’s eyes twinkled fondly as she crossed the yard in a matter of moments, her body language practically buzzing with a nervous anticipation. He also noticed, to a private satisfaction, that her shotgun was not out, but not far from reach.  _ Some lessons stay with you. _

“I heard on my way down,” she breathed. “Are you alright? Is everyone alright? Councilor Tevos called to apologize, and I didn’t understand why, and then she explained about the commandos, and-”

“We’re alright,” Garrus said smoothly, setting the rifle down and rising to greet his wife. “A little shaken up, that’s all. Too much excitement in one day. What did Tevos say, exactly?”

“That Shepard-” He could feel her peer owlishly at him behind her visor. “You already know what she said, you’re just fishing for anything new.”

His mandibles waggled. “I don’t fish. I have never fished. Hunt, yes. But fish? You know I can’t swim.”

“ _ Bosh’tet _ , you are impossible sometimes,” she laughed affectionately. Clever fingers worked the seals in her helmet, and with a brief puff of vapor the visor detached. A shock of fine, dark hair was plastered damply to a pale forehead, and luminous pupil-less eyes blinked up at him a few times, adjusting to the lower light. She bit her bottom lip, a faint indigo blush creeping up her cheeks.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she murmured.

“Like what?”

“ _ That _ ,” she laughed again. “All… you know what you’re doing, Vakarian.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he purred, bending for a kiss. She rolled her eyes… but leaned into his mouth just the same.

“So,” she said after a moment, as the two of them sat side by side to watch the sun finish setting.

“So,” he agreed. The sky was the color of a ship’s afterburners, the flash of atmosphere on a ship returning home, the spark of light when the sun’s rays hit the mirrored fuselage of your ship. Rannoch had only been home a few years, but it seemed more at home than Palaven ever had.

“Shepard.”

“Is that  _ really _ what you want to talk about?” he teased, leaning in and nuzzling the side of her neck.

“No,” she murmured demurely, feigning disinterest as she let his mandibles wander. “But we should.”

“What did the Admiralty Board have to say?” He  _ was _ , in fact, fishing, but he wasn’t about to admit that.

“They’re worried,” Tali answered honestly. “The Alliance isn’t telling the Council something. You don’t authorize a Spectre for a containment beach protocol; let alone  _ the _ Spectre. And Wenn’Taisa and Chrysanthemum aren’t the only ones who are suspicious. From the sounds of things at the Board meeting,  _ everyone _ thinks the Alliance is up to something.”

“You know, I’ll never get used to an eight-foot geth prime calling itself “Chrysanthemum,”” Garrus mused.

“You know how they are.” Tali swatted at his wandering hand. “He named himself after the first thing he saw, when he attained consciousness. A lot of them did. I think it’s sweet. Anyways, it's the first thing I’ve seen the Admiralty Board agree on unanimously, since the end of the War.” She leaned into the big turian and rested her head on his shoulder. “What did you hear?”

“The asari are extremely concerned at Shepard's involvement," Garrus admitted. "They practically view her as a religious figure now, a kind of awe and terror. Tevos looked shaken."

"Did she say  _ why _ Shepard is getting involved, all of a sudden? She seemed so happy retired, when we saw them last." Tali's fingers drummed a nervous cadence on his carapace.

"Hackett, apparently," Garrus sighed. "Tevos mentioned it, Liara confirmed it. It sounds like he's blackmailing her, somehow. Liara said if she didn't get involved, the people they loved would suffer. I wonder if she meant she'd be exposed as the- well, you know."

" _ Bosh'tet _ ," the quarian swore vehemently. And then, in a curious tone, "so you spoke to Liara, then?"

He nodded. "Yeah, just before you touched down- why are you looking at me like that?"

"You never call  _ me _ just to check up on me," she said slyly, eyes twinkling.

"I do too!" His mandibles waggled in protest. "I call you all the time. And because you're in meetings all day, I've practically struck up a relationship with your office VI."

"Shepard… Liara… my office VI… you're so popular with the ladies, Vakarian," Tali purred, nuzzling the side of his head and whispering into his fringe. She didn't swat his wandering hands away this time.

"And you," he murmured. "Don't forget you."

She let her own hands wander… and then grinned when he yelped at her pinch. "This is just a fling, remember?"

"Still using me for my body, after all these years?" He grinned.

"After all these years," she nodded, affectionately ruffling his fringe and planting a kiss along the side of his jaw.

They sat in content silence for a time as Rannoch grew dark around them. As the sun dipped beyond the canyons around them and the oceans beyond those, the solar glow-globes that had been soaking in sunrays all day began to light up one by one, twinkling stars in a sea of black. Garrus had to grudgingly admit the decorating suggestion, made by Liara in imitation of asari homesteads, had been a good one.

"You want to go to her," Tali said quietly after a moment.

"Yeah." Garrus sighed. "Yeah." He braced himself for the explosion.

"I think," Tali said slowly, "we should both go."

"Really? I mean…" He blinked. "No, wait, really?"

"Yes," she said patiently. "Look. The Admiralty Board is worried about this. The Republic is worried about this. The only reason the Hierarchy isn't beating our door down is because unless there's war, the Primarchs take forever to decide on anything. And Shepard… I don't buy into asari superstition, but it's like I said. Nobody would involve a Spectre in the first place if this wasn't serious. And to involve the greatest Spectre ever? Something doesn't add up with the Alliance, and if Shepard is being blackmailed into this… I don't like it."

"If the Alliance is up to something under Shepard's nose…" Garrus hummed. "On the one hand, nobody would be quicker to expose corruption than her. On the other hand, she's Alliance to the core - and Hackett's known her since she was practically a child. I don't think he'd steer her wrong, but it wouldn't be hard for him to lead her by the beak if  _ he _ was dirty. She'd have made a great turian." He noticed his hands had wandered away from Tali and resumed drumming on his knees, and stopped them. "Shepard needs our help; or at least a few new sets of eyes on the situation. But I’m worried about T’Soni, too. I’d like to go check on her at the Citadel, first. This has hurt her, badly. I haven’t heard her this upset since… well, since the War."

"Liara T'Soni is the strongest person I know," Tali reminded him.

"That's why I'm worried," he said softly.


	3. Chapter 3

The old Shadow Broker stronghold was a storm-chasing floating fortress, riding the dangerous electrical storms across Hagalaz; all slate-grey and gunmetal, flickering neon lights crackling at the same tempo as flashes of lightning. It was a forbidding, sinister headquarters for one of the most notorious and feared figures in the galaxy.

Liara T’Soni’s private apartment in the Citadel was a luxury loft overlooking Edroki Plaza in the Kithoi ward. Much like her old apartment on Nos Astra, it was sumtuposly appointed with floor-to-ceiling windows, tall mahogany shelves lined with books, and shimmering glow-globes that cast a fey-like light on glass cases displaying ancient asari and prothean artifacts. A crackling fire - artificial, but cunningly constructed and, most importantly, warm - blazed merrily in a granite hearth ringed by soft, luxurious couches. A full suite of monitors and haptic interfaces lined the space beneath an elevated platform with a bed just big enough for two.

A pair of asari standing idle in the antechamber nodded briskly yet respectfully as Liara doffed her grey silken hood and keyed her biometric data to the door panel. After the briefest of moments it hummed, disengaging the lock, and the huntresses as one relaxed their hands from the pistols at their hips. She felt, rather than saw, Taix at her back relax in the same way. Zeitha, the taller of the huntresses, addressed her.

“Greetings, Matron. Miss Lawson and Miss Nought are within, with Kaarisa. Shiovae and I have the door. Aliphea, Jeniraa and Beiase are throughout the Wards.”

“Thank you, Zeitha,” she murmured, turning her head slightly. “Taix, you stand relieved. I leave you in the care of Zeitha for now.” She dipped her head, formally. “You honor me with your service.”

Taix dipped her head slightly lower and proffered a salute of a fist in a cupped palm. “It is an honor to serve, Matron.” 

Liara caught sight of the asari flashing huntress handtalk at each other as she entered the apartment, feeling a pang of sorrow as she thought how Sybilla would have known what they were saying, would have made a no-doubt cheeky remark of her own in passing. Glyph burbled happily beside her as she swept into the spacious living area, as if in counterpoint to the nervous energy Liara herself practically bubbled with.

Miranda Lawson stood bent over the suite of monitors in the corner, her eyes rapt in attention as data flew past at an indecipherable rate, lips half-mouthing thoughts and analyses as they raced through her genetically-perfected brain. Not for the first time Liara felt a slight twinge of envy at the way the human woman filled out the form-clinging bodysuits she favored, and not for the first time she suppressed the beginnings of a blush at imagining herself - or, Goddess,  _ Sybilla _ \- wearing such a thing. Miranda looked as composed and capable as ever, as if the ageless raven-haired woman were part asari somehow. Without glancing from her screens she offered a slight wave.

Sprawled out on the couch was Jack, wirey and muscular as ever, the only woman Liara had ever seen with as many tattoos and as many scars as Sybilla. She’d gone back to shaving her head once more, and though she’d never admit it had softened somewhat since the War, preferring loose-fitting athleisure to the belts and straps she’d so brazenly worn in years past. The fiery human was apparently attempting a  _ My'yaze _ meditation technique, guided by Liara’s equally wirey and muscular huntress, Kaarisa. Judging by the amused look on Kaarisa’s face and the frustrated one on Jack’s, it wasn’t going well. Even as Liara entered, Jack sitting cross-legged, suspended a few inches above the floor. Her entire body seemed to be shaking with the effort. Something spasmed across her face, and the gravity well she was concentrating on holding up collapsed, depositing her on her rear with a painful-sounding bump.

“Fuck!” she snarled, scrambling to her feet and shooting Miranda an apologetic look. “Uh, sorry, babe. Hey Blue,” she grimaced as she rubbed her rump, having noticed Liara’s entrance at last.

Liara arched an eyebrow. “Lucen’s pose?”

“Lucen’s pose,” Kaarisa confirmed, offering the same fist-in-palm salute that Taix had. “Welcome home, Matron. Miss Nought had pressed us for some “asari biotic secrets.” I had thought to start simply.”

“Simply, my ass,” Jack laughed. “I can lift a shuttle with one hand tied behind my back, but I cannot figure out how to effect my  _ own _ fucking mass. It should be so fucking simple, but-”

“It is not,” Kaarisa nodded. “It is a skill that requires years of practice, even in asari.”

“Can Shepard do it?”

“She can,” Liara said, purple lips widening with a smile of her own. “Sybilla studied with huntresses when she was young. Part of huntress training involves crossing rivers without getting wet.” Her smile widened. “To hear the story, she was wet very often.”

“Bet she was,” Jack hooted. Liara rolled her eyes, but the blush crept in all the same.

“You’re awful,” Miranda drawled, having stepped away from the monitors to join them, lightly resting an elbow on Liara’s shoulder. “Doctor T’Soni. I didn’t think to see you out of “retirement” quite so soon. I thought it’d be another decade, at least.”

“I had hoped to never contact you like this,” Liara said, all levity dropping from her. “The situation has grown… concerning. I find everything I have worked to build and maintain at risk, and I do not even yet fully understand why.” Her tone and gaze hardened. “I will not allow my family to be threatened.”

Jack’s eyes crinkled. “Hey. We got your back, yeah? Normandy crew, ride or die.”

“Jack’s right,” Miranda nodded. “Although I don’t think I understand the reference. I was able to gather the intel you requested, and I’ve updated the assembled dossier I sent you earlier. But the situation has grown… a little more complicated.” She beckoned over to the monitors. On it, Liara could see four human figures; data-files and dossiers of rapidly-scrolling personnel intel.

“Shepard called, asking for intel on these four. All Cerberus scientists and operatives on bio-weapons projects so secret  _ I _ barely knew anything about them. Almost all of them the Alliance apprehended just before the Battle of the Crucible, during the raid on Cronos Station. They’re all listed as having died in Alliance custody on the same day, after the War, on April 17th, 2188.” Miranda turned and looked Liara in the eye, cold diamond meeting warm sapphire. “Amel Raye, Denton Flagg, Salim Malek… and Maya Brooks.”

“Brooks?” Liara’s brow furrowed. “These… these are the Indoctrinated persons that Hackett has Sybilla looking for.”

“They are,” Miranda nodded. “I tapped into her briefing. They’re all listed as former employees of a pharmaceutical corporation, GeneSys. So far they’ve broken out of an Alliance research facility, killed a shuttle full of people, raided a GeneSys laboratory, and wiped out an N7 fire team.” She shook her head. “I’ve never heard of this GeneSys until now. It seems like they’ve sprung up almost overnight, and all their contracts appear to be military, or at least government. I’m running a full audit now.”

“The matching date of death has been obviously and poorly fabricated,” Liara said slowly, walking over to the monitors and initiating a search of her own. “ I identified and exposed several Cerberus agents that were given a post-war clemency by the Alliance in exchange for working on secret military projects… but this is far, far more egregious.” She sighed and ran a hand along her crest. “It seems unlikely that the Alliance would have  _ no _ knowledge of these four… did Hackett bring Sybilla in because he discovered the truth? Or is she here to bury it?”

She turned, suddenly, back to Jack and Miranda. “Does Sybilla know I’m here?”

The humans exchanged glances. “No, it didn’t… come up. Should she?”

Liara shook her head. “Sybilla has her mission; we have ours. Continue to provide her as much information as you can find on these Cerberus agents. I need to know how deep this goes. What have you found on Hackett?”

“Well…” Miranda strode past her, bringing up his profile on one of the screens. “Admiral Hackett isn’t the most paranoid person I’ve ever surveiled, but he’s close. He keeps to an exceedingly tight schedule, he’s rarely in one place for very long, he likes to make personal inspections and conduct business face-to-face, and he rarely sleeps.” She made a wry face. “I wonder who  _ that _ reminds me of. His security detail changes  _ constantly _ . He doesn’t seem to have any friends, and I haven’t found any vices worth looking into. Personal finances… he actually makes  _ less _ than what you’d expect a man of his stature, and there are no extraneous purchases or additional revenue streams.”

She straightened and looked Liara in the eye. “All I’ve found, to be honest, is that he’s a hard-assed son-of-a-bitch with few friends in the upper Navy brass  _ or _ the Alliance government. They’d have put him out to pasture years ago, but it’s hard to get rid of a war hero.”

“It’s a start,” Liara nodded. “Thank you, Miranda. Jacqueline, I wonder if I could have you obtain something for me?” She tapped a few haptic keys on her ‘omni. “I’ve just sent you the specs.”

“Yeah, I can…” Jack blinked as she scanned Liara’s requisition. “Shit, Blue, this is serious hardware. Like… Spectre hardware. I think if C-Sec catches someone with one of these they just shoot them.”

“Can you find one?” Liara asked patiently.

Jack’s frown deepened. “Yeah… yeah, I know a guy who knows a guy. You, ah, sure? I didn’t think guns were your style.”

“That is precisely the point.”

Miranda and Jack exchanged another glance. “Yeah, it’s uh… it’s no problem,” Jack shrugged.

Liara’s mouth opened and closed. “I… am sorry. If you do not feel comfortable doing this-”

“No, really, it’s fine, you don’t gotta explain yourself to me,” Jack shrugged. “Shit, my guy owes me big, anyways. I’ll make some calls, get it done in a couple of days.” She barked a laugh. “You’re really gonna gack Hackett? Shiiiiiiit, you’re a bad bitch, Blue.”

Her smile was faint, but hollow. “I have my moments.”

“Why don’t we give T’Soni some space to work,” Miranda coughed, motioning toward the mezzanine above. “My eyes could use a rest.”

“Deal,” Jack said eagerly. “We’ll uh, try not to be too loud, Blue.” She flashed a wink and practically dashed upstairs, tugging off her hoodie as she went. Miranda let out an exasperated sigh.

“That isn’t what I- That isn’t what I meant,” she assured Liara.

“It is fine,” Liara said absent-mindedly. “I have much work to do, in truth. Glyph? Would you dim the lights, please? Kaarisa, you may retire, as well; I’ll take whichever couch you do not.”

“Of course, Doctor T’Soni,” Glyph bubbled cheerfully.

“You honor me, Matron,” Kaarisa saluted again, before stretching out on the couch furthest from the fire and closest to the door.

“How is she?” Miranda asked in a low voice. “She sounded stressed, when she called earlier.”

“Stressed,” Liara confirmed. “She was getting better, Miranda. She was getting better, and Hackett stole that from her. From  _ me _ . I won’t let him take her from me again. I won’t let anyone take her from me again.”

“He won’t.” The tall human squeezed her shoulder affectionately before making to leave. She was halfway to the stair when she turned with a curious look on her face, her voice pitched low, quiet. “Jacqueline?”

The ghost of a smile returned. “She had previously expressed a desire to be referred to as “Mrs. Jacqueline Nought,” professionally, and in our correspondences.”

Miranda echoed the smile. “ _ You two _ have correspondences?”

“Goodnight, Miranda,” Liara laughed lightly.

“Keep your secrets, then,” Miranda rolled her eyes. “Goodnight, Liara. It’s good to see you, despite the circumstances.”

“Secrets,” Liara muttered under her breath as Miranda climbed up to bed. She clicked through the Hackett dossier, one file at a time, lost in the scrolling text. “What are you hiding from me?”


End file.
